Hit Me With Your Best Shot
by Readwriteedit
Summary: "She catches one drunk off guard, and suddenly she's the adorable Amazon and I'm the 98 pound weakling." … "You only weigh 98 pounds?" Skye defends herself and Jeffrey gets beaten up over it. (Note: I don't own anything.)
1. Chapter 1

_Yet another old sitcom adaptation for my favorite couple… _The Dick Van Dyke Show:_ Season 4, Episode 1 (1964). "My Mommy Can Beat Up My Daddy." Enjoy!_

* * *

There was something about being in traction that took the humor out of things.

That was the only excuse he could think of for his lack of laughter when the rest of the hospital room occupants were doubled over with tears running down their faces.

Of course, the story _was_ pretty funny. Too bad it had be in posted on the Boston Gazette Society page. And too bad it had to be about _him_.

* * *

"How's the nose, Tifton?"

That had been the first shot fired at him that morning from his manager, George, the instant he walked into his office. Little did he know it would be far from the last.

"How'd you know about my nose?"

"Are you kidding? Your schnoz is more famous than Washington's teeth!"

"What?"

"Didn't you see the article?"

Cue sense of impending doom. "What article?"

"The one about your nose, of course."

He took the paper reluctantly, hesitant about what he might find. Unfortunately, it was worse than he could have imagined.

_Last night at Rocky Leon's, Jeffrey Tifton, rising star and prodigy of the Boston music scene, introduced me to his lovely fem, Skye. I made note that she was a knockout, and about two minutes later she proved it. A lush got fresh with the little lady, and Jeffrey stepped in to do the Sir Galahad bit. He was promptly flattened with a shot to the snoot, and would have been mauled if his adorable Amazon hadn't decked the bar-fly with a perfectly executed Judo flip. Note to the public: Give Tifton a standing ovation this Sunday at the concert hall, or his wife will flatten you. _

He wasn't sure what dropped first: the paper to the floor, or him to the nearest chair.

"How did you find this?"

"It was in Simpson's column this morning."

"In the Gazette?"

"Yeah."

He groaned.

"Well, at least no one reads print anymore."

"Hate to break it to you, man, but the Gazette is online."

"Right." This was too ridiculous to be happening. "I can't believe he published that! She catches one drunk off guard, and suddenly she's the adorable Amazon and I'm the 98 pound weakling."

"You only weigh 98 pounds?"

He chuckled, humorlessly.

"Watch it, man. These hands are registered with the junk yard!"

"Yeah, you're just sore that your wife can beat you up." Sometimes George was too smart for his own good.

"She didn't beat me up. She beat the other guy up."

"Yeah, but _he_ beat _you_ up, and _she_ beat _him_ up, which means that _she_ can beat _you_ up!"

This day was just getting better and better.

**(To be continued.)**

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_For more stories, click on "Readwriteedit."_


	2. Chapter 2

"Did you read the article, Jeffrey?" Apparently, even his no-nonsense wife secretly read the society column.

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"Well? It's kinda fun, isn't it?" She was smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Yeah, super fun." Under normal circumstances, she would have been proud of the acid that dripped off his tongue with that sentence. As it was, she just laughed.

"I've had a black belt in Kung Fu for eight years now, and I never knew beating anyone up could be so rewarding!"

"Yeah, rewarding..."

"What are you in such a bad mood about?" She was staring at him as if he'd sprouted an extra head.

"Oh, nothing. Just that if you were to accumulate all the horrible days in my life-including the day when I fell out of that tree and broke my _cheek_-it couldn't amount to the horribleness of this day!"

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse... One anonymous rat sent me a _live_ _chicken_!"

"He didn't."

"He did."

He could tell she was trying to hold back a smile, but at the moment she wasn't really succeeding all that well.

"Oh, come on, Jeffrey, they're just having a little fun..."

"Yes, well, I'll admit I saw the humor in it too, up to a point. I think it was the chicken that threw me over the edge..."

She smiled, no longer making any effort to hide it. "Yeah, that was a bit much. I mean, after all you did _try_ to defend me..."

Here she broke off, noticing the look on his face.

"I mean, you did! You _did_ defend me. It was never a question of bravery."

"Just ability." The dryness in his voice was enough to parch a camel, and yet she just shook her head, chuckling softly.

"Oh, Jeffrey, you're being silly. You knew I was a black belt when you married me. It didn't seem to bother you then."

"And it doesn't bother me now. I just wish I was better equipped to protect you myself."

"Believe it or not, you don't have to be a caveman to prove your masculinity to me. I think I'm savage enough for the two of us."

"Definitely right there." He smiled. "You know, some guys had the nerve to come up to me and say, 'So, I heard your wife can beat you up...'"

"That's ridiculous. What difference does it make?"

"_What difference does it make?!_"

"Yeah. What difference does it make that I can beat you up?"

"Do you mean to say that you think you can _beat me up_?!"

She just looked at him. "Jeffrey, this is silly."

"No, answer me. You think you can beat me up?"

"Up until this moment I never really thought about it..."

"Well, what is there to think about?! Honey, I could flatten you with one hand if I wanted to."

She snorted. "Jeffrey, I've been training in Kung Fu for 12 years and I'm a 7th degree black belt. I highly doubt that you, on the other hand, have ever thrown a punch in your life!"

"You think that because you beat up one drunk, and because _he_ beat _me_ up, you can beat me up."

"Yeah."

"You really think you could toss me around, don't you?"

She looked like she was pretending to think about it. "Well, I think I could toss you _down_."

"Okay, try me."

"Jeffrey, this is ridiculous."

"Come on. I'm ready to attack."

"Do you mean you're going to hit me?" The look on her face said she couldn't believe this was happening. He didn't blame her one bit.

"Only make-believe."

"Okay, then."

He wasn't entirely sure what happened, but a split second and one "_hi-ya!_" later, he was on his back, staring up at stars that were suddenly flying around his head.

"Yay!" Came the cheer from across the living room "Go, Mommy!"

Yet in spite of the noise emitting from their 2 year-old daughter, who had somehow toddled into the room without their notice, neither of them missed him mutter, "I'm married to a little girl who can _deck me_."

**(To be continued.)**


	3. Chapter 3

"You're sure this stuff stuff will work?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Tifton. These techniques will work as counters to most basic throws and holds. You should be safe now."

"I was never in danger."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Tifton."

* * *

"Honey, are you home?"

"Hey, Jeffrey. I'm on the roof."

"Be right up, then."

She stared at him as his head appeared above the roofline. "You never come up on the roof. In fact, you usually yell at me for being up here..."

"Yes, well, today I am...serene."

"Oh? How many 'serenes' did you have?"

"No, no, not like that. Skye, I took a Judo lesson today."

"Really, Jeffrey? This whole thing is getting completely out of hand!"

"It is not. I just popped my head into that little self defense place on B St..."

"And asked for some wife-beating lessons..."

"No, more like...husband-saving lessons, I'd say." She stared at him. "Anyway, that's why I'm serene now. You can't hurt me anymore."

"Jeffrey, I never intended to..." She had started to walk towards him, but trailed off she noticed his reaction. He was slowly backing away from her, a cautious look in his eye. "Jeffrey, you're being ridiculous. I've never even thought about hurting you."

"Yes, well, it could still happen. What if you found me with another woman? I bet you'd try to kill me then."

"That would be a perfectly normal reaction, yes. But that has nothing to do with my black belt: if I had never taken a day of defense training in my life I would still kill you and you know it. Is that something I should be worried about, though, incidentally?"

"No, of course not. I'd never risk my life like that. But the point is, now you can't hurt me. Well, most likely not."

"And what are you going to do about it?" This was turning into one of the oddest conversations of her life.

"I'm not going to do anything about it, Honey. I'm just going to kiss and make up."

He started towards her with extended arms and a smile on his face, but for once she couldn't get away fast enough, backing away with a wary look in her eye.

"Jeffrey, if this is a sneak-attack..."

"Skye..." He looked flabbergasted, and she couldn't blame him. This whole situation was beyond weird.

"Look, no hands. I'll keep them behind my back." He edged towards her slowly. "And I don't know any lip throws."

"Alright..." Warily she leaned forward and placed a hurried, cautious peck on his lips. It was quite possibly the worst kiss she had ever experienced. Apparently, he thought so too.

"Skye, I think you were more passionate on our first date than with that kiss."

"I didn't kiss you for our first four dates, and you know it."

"And yet you were _still_ more romantic than that kiss."

"It's your fault, you know."

"I know... You know, Skye, I'll admit, when I first got home I was planning on flipping you right down on your back, but apparently all those martial arts movies are right: knowing you can do something is way better than actually doing it."

"Right!"

"You want to see me do it?"

"I thought you just said you didn't have to!"

"I don't! But it's...fun! Aren't you even interested in seeing what I can do?!"

"Not in the least."

"Skye, you know something? That's kinda small of you."

"Boy, you're just _dying_ to let me have it, aren't you?!"

"Of course not, honey. I love you. I wouldn't do anything in the world to hurt you."

"Good. Now will you please get off my roof and let me get back to my telescope?"

There was a pause, during which she thought he might actually be leaving, before: "Don't you want me to do it? I'm _dying_ to do it, honey!"

"Not with me. Everybody knows that you never spar with your spouse. It's a fundamental principal!"

"Well, honey, I'd like to show you!" He paused, before starting down the ladder. "I need a victim."

"Where are you going?!"

"The kids' room."

"Jeffrey Tifton, you get back up here or I will kill you."

"I'll be right back."

"Jeffrey, I am not going to let you flip one of our children. Period, end of story."

"How about one of their stuffed animals?"

"What?"

When he reemerged 30 seconds later, carrying a gigantic stuffed monkey, she was sure whether to laugh or cry. Yes, her husband had completely flipped his lid, but at least it was a monkey that was suffering and not her own flesh and blood.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Jeffrey. This is ridiculous."

"I'm just going to show you a quick demonstration."

"With a stuffed monkey."

"Well, you didn't want the role, so don't complain. Look, I'll be you, and the monkey will be me."

"Good casting." He ignored her.

"Now, it's all leverage. You came at me like this," he grabbed the monkey by the wrist, "and you thought you had the hip leverage to throw me over."

"Jeffrey, I think you're standing too close to the edge."

"Don't interrupt the genius at work. Now, all I had to do was break your grip, flip my hand over, and then all of the sudden you're on the floor and I'm standing over you with my foot on your throat."

"Nice guy. How does marriage counseling sound?"

"Shhh. Just watch." And with that last parting message, he did a front flip over the monkey, and straight off the roof.

"Are you alive?"

"Barely."

"Okay. Start dinner when you get the chance, will you?"

One with was for sure: domestic life was anything but boring.

**(End.)**

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_For more stories, click on "Readwriteedit." _


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